


Just One More

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Feedism, Food Kink, Inflation, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a follow up to "Bad Habits."  Feuilly and Bahorel are getting a bit more comfortable in their new arrangement when a third joins in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One More

On one level, Feuilly still wasn’t sure why he was so into this--the feedee/feeder thing he and Bahorel had going.  He knew why they did it, that wasn’t the question.  The question was why being stuffed to the gills turned him on so much.  They hadn’t done it since that first time a week ago but there was an unspoken desire each time they passed one another in the kitchen.  When they’d lie together, cramped in one of their beds, Bahorel would walk his fingers over the soft swell of Feuilly’s belly and whisper, “What if we make it bigger?”  It was the way he whispered it that sent chills down his spine and electricity to his groin.

On another level, this sudden preoccupation was a great waste.  He would outgrow his clothes, which he would then have to find some way to buy new and eating more than his share of food was pretty wasteful.  Yet, the memory of last week, letting Bahorel shove snacks into his mouth and feeling his stomach groan and stretch was such a remarkable and surprise turn-on that he tried to forget about the downsides.

Tonight, they sat on the floor of Feuilly’s room as it was far, far cleaner than Bahorel’s.  The door was locked but, as far as they knew, no one else was in the co-op anyhow.  Around them were various cartons of Chinese takeout, a styrofoam container heavy with a burger and fries, and a large pizza.  Feuilly kept his hands behind his back, though they weren’t bound.

“How much did this--”

Bahorel quieted him by pressing a finger to his lips.

“Doesn’t matter.  It’s all going to a good cause.”

He lowered his finger and palmed Feuill’s little belly.  Last week’s binge had seen his small paunch pudge out further but it still wasn’t noticed by any of the others.  Feuilly himself only noticed it at night when Bahorel kissed and fondled it or during the day when he realized his shirts were a bit tight or that buttoning his jeans became more difficult.

“Where do you want to begin?”

He looked out at the spread in front of him but before he could answer, there was a knock at the door.

“Ignore it.” Bahorel leaned forward and kissed him gently. “So...what’ll it be?”

The lock turned and they sprang apart, both surprised at the sudden intrusion.  Feuilly whipped his head to the side to look at his night table and saw that his keys weren’t resting on it as they usually were.

“Hey, you left your keys downstairs.”

A delicate hand appeared in the crack in the door, dangling Feuilly’s keys from the long, tapered fingers.

“Uh...thanks, Jehan.”

There was a long pause and Jehan’s hand didn’t move.  He realized that he probably figured that he would just drop the keys off from the hallway and be on his way without having to enter the room.  Feuilly was a bit worried about standing up so fast.  He felt like these particular jeans were on their last legs--no pun intended--and he didn’t want to risk tearing them before anything got underway.

Without thinking of the current situation, he said, “Hey, you can come in to drop ‘em off.”

Bahorel gave him an incredulous look and he realized his mistake.  It was, though, too late as Jehan pushed the door open further and stepped in.  He stopped in the doorway, eyes nearly bugging out at the amount of food arranged on the carpet.

“Are you having a party?” he asked.

“Uh...” Feuilly tried.

“Sort of,” Bahorel said blithely.

Jehan’s eyes narrowed a little as he scrutinized them both.  His gaze lingered on Feuilly’s middle before taking in his hands held behind his back.

“Ohmigosh!”

Feuilly felt his spine fuse as he sat up bolt straight against his bed.  Jehan’s shout was nothing short of an excited middle schooler’s and a bit out of character for the poet.  So too was the excited bouncing he was currently doing in the middle of the room that caused his auburn braid to smack against his back almost audibly and made the keys he still held jingle.

“Why are you bouncing?” Bahorel asked with a short but loud laugh.  

Despite himself and despite the absurdity of their current situation, Feuilly was a bit jealous.  Often when they were broken up, Bahorel would dally with Jehan.  It was a foolish jealousy, though, since he did the same thing.

Jehan stopped and grinned, his hands pressed together.

“You’re a feeder, right?” he asked, looking at Bahorel.  To Feuilly he said, “And you’re the feedee?”

“Uh...” he tried again.

Jehan went to them and crouched down by Feuilly.

“I’m into that,” he explained, grinning broadly. “I mean...I’ve never done it.  But I’ve seen a lot of videos online and...do you mind if I...uh...join in?”

He looked very sheepish, then, looking down at the carpet and not meeting either of them in the eye.  Feuilly gave a sideways glance to Bahorel who was grinning.  The jealousy from before spiked but only for a moment.  He actually wouldn’t mind Jehan joining in.  Sure, it would put truth to everyone joking that all three of them should just date but it was a fairly intriguing idea.  Either that or it was the hunger speaking.  He hadn’t eaten all day in preparation for tonight.  Bahorel had told him that was an awful idea but he hadn’t listened.

“Sure...um...which?”

“Which?”

Feuilly tried to find the words, which was hard considering that he was new to this whole thing himself.  Jehan, at least, said he’d seen videos.

“Which do you want to do tonight,” Bahorel said, easily taking over.

“Oh...hmmm.” He shrugged narrow shoulders. “I guess I’d be okay with both?  But tonight I think I want to be feeding rather than fed.”

Feuilly nodded and looked Jehan up and down.  He was wearing a short, eyelet crop top and low, tight jeans that showed off his hip bones as well as a hint as to where those hip bones led.  He imagined him stuffed as he himself had been last week: lying on his back with his long, pretty hair fanned out around him, belly pushing his top up to his neck...he swallowed thickly and kind of wished that Jehan hadn’t said that he wanting to be on the giving end rather than the receiving.

“So you’re double-teaming me?” he asked rather than voice his desire.

“Is that alright?” Bahorel asked.  He reached out again to palm his belly.  The touch sent a shiver down his spine.

“Sure.”

\--

“Look!  It’s bouncy like a balloon!”

Feuilly groaned a little as Jehan bounced up and down a little on his belly as he fed him noodles from a cardboard container.  Apparently feeding released his inner child and he was enjoying every minute of it.  At that moment, Feuilly was also fairly glad that Jehan didn’t have a cock since he didn’t want that poking into his already taxed belly.

“Oof,” he mumbled pitifully in between mouthfuls of noodles.

The pizza was gone and so was the burger.  The fries he had yet to touch since he had decided that he wanted to be fed some of the Chinese food as a change of pace.

“Jehan, get off.  I think he needs to sit up.”

Bahorel looked a bit cross as he said it and Feuilly figured it was because he wanted to take his turn.  Jehan had been hogging shoving the Chinese food into his mouth.

“Let me just finish this carton,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to smile sweetly at Bahorel.

“Alright, fine.”

Feuilly opened his mouth to receive the last of the noodles.  The moment they slid down his throat, the pressure of Jehan’s weigh on him lifted and he exhaled in relief.  He struggled to sit up by himself but found that he couldn’t.  Bahorel took him by both hands and got him into an upright position.  The movement was enough for some of the snaps on his shirt to pop open, revealing his gorged flesh.

“Ngghuh?” he mumbled and stared down at his exposed stomach.  Lethargy from the food was beginning to kick in.

Jehan reached down and undid the button of his jeans for him, liberating him further.  He stayed down there, though, kissing the exposed flesh and nipping it lightly with his teeth.

“He’s getting so big,” he marveled, sounding breathless.

Bahorel carefully took him by the shoulders and pulled him away.

“Yeah, now sit tight while I make him bigger.”

Jehan sat cross-legged on the floor, content to just watch for now.

“How are you feeling?” Bahorel asked.  He reached out to rub a hand down the curve of Feuilly’s stomach.

“Full,” he mumbled. “And...”

He gestured near his crotch.  Even with the grease-fueled lethargy setting in, he could feel his cock pressing tightly against his underwear.

“Do you want more?” he said, voice about at as close to a coo as Bahorel’s got.

He nodded without thinking.

“Okay.  Open wide.”

He reached into the styrofoam container and pulled out a handful of fries.  Bahorel’s hands were big so it only took a couple of handfuls before all of the fries were settling heavily in Feuilly’s stomach.  It now ached tightly, little bolts of pain shooting up from it.  He looked pitifully at the remaining cartons of Chinese food.

“I’m too full,” he said and yawned massively.

Bahorel leaned down and kissed the strained, flushed skin of his belly.

“It’s alright,” he said against his flesh. “You don’t have to finish it all.”

Jehan was looking at him with a coy smile on his face.  He turned to Bahorel.

“Can I?”

The glint in his eye was clear.

“It’s up to him.”

He turned his gaze on Feuilly and raised his eyebrows.  Yawning again, he nodded.  Jehan took him by the hands and pulled him forward.  He kept pulling until he was lying down with Feuilly on top of him.  His stomach pressed against Jehan’s and he wriggled under him, a soft smile on his face.

“You’re so big,” he marveled and lifted his head a little to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re going to have to feed me and make me as big as you.”

The thought matched his earlier desire and his cock twitched.

“Yeah?” he asked.

Jehan nodded and wiggled a bit more, thrusting his hips into Feuilly’s belly.

“Yeah...just...” His voice was getting a bit more breathless and dreamy.

“Too bad I’m not the feeder in this arrangement,” he said back.  The lethargy was gone and now he pressed himself further against Jehan.  His stomach gurgled in protest but he ignored it.

“I can,” Bahorel said.  Lust was heavy in his voice.

Feuilly continued to rub his gorged belly over Jehan’s flat one.  He had no idea what he was doing but judging from the sounds he was getting from Jehan, it was working.

“And can I feed you?” Jehan asked, turning his head and pushing his lips out into a pout. “I really like mutual and...ngh--do that again, Feuilly--and beefy guys with little guts.”

“We’ll see...”

Bahorel moved closer and sat by them, watching them both.

\--

It wasn’t until a few days later that they could do it again.  Feuilly had work and Jehan had summer classes and so Saturday was the first time all three of them were together.  The kitchen was deserted and both Jehan and Feuilly were sitting on the large, square island in its center that they and the rest of the occupants used as a kitchen table.  Feuilly wore a pair of Bahorel’s sweatpants both for the pleasure he got out of wearing his boyfriend’s clothes and because none of his jeans would do up anymore.  His knees were drawn to his chest, squashing his belly between his thighs and chest.

Jehan wore his usual ensemble of tight, low-cut jeans and a flimsy crop top.  He swung his legs a little as he leaned back on his arms, a smile on his face.

“It’s my turn tonight, right?”

Bahorel leaned in and nipped at his pointed nose.

“Yep.  Mine, too.” He glanced at Feuilly, smirking. “Are you up for being the feeder this time around?”

He nodded, feeling a mixture of disappointment and relief for not having to overtax his own belly again so soon.  He hopped off of the counter and pulled up the waistband of the sweatpants from where it sagged around his still narrow hips.  His gaining was weird, he realized.  He had more padding on his rear and of course his belly but his hips seemed to remain thus far unchanged.  He rolled down the waistband to keep the pants on and turned towards the refrigerator.  He had made sure to eat before the new session was to begin but his stomach still growled as he pulled the quart of ice cream from the freezer.

“Quiet you,” he hissed at his belly. “You’ve already been fed.”

“Are you talking to your stomach like it’s a third party?” Jehan asked.

He looked up sharply. “Uh...yes.”

“Alright.  Just making sure.”

He handed the carton and a spoon to Jehan.  Bahorel was smirking at him.

“What?  I don’t have to spoon-feed him,” he said a bit defensively. “You guys can eat for yourselves until you feel full.  Then I’ll take over.”

Bahorel slipped his arms around his waist and his thumbs brushed the underside of his belly.

“Good plan.” He leaned down and kissed his neck. “I’m gonna wait to get started until Jehan’s got something in him, though.  It’s mostly his turn, after all.”

Feuilly nodded but was a bit confused at his words.  Bahorel almost sounded a bit apprehensive.  Last week, he had eaten along with him voraciously enough but that hadn’t been planned.  He was a bit glad for the apprehension, though.  They were all still new at this but he was worried that he was the only one unsure of what to do.

Jehan dug the spoon eagerly into the ice cream and Feuilly set about to find him something a little more solid to put in him once he got a good ways into it.  There was a frozen lasagna in the freezer.

“I got that for you,” Bahorel said.  He was leaning over his shoulder. “But if you want to make it for us, that’s fine.”

Feuilly nudged him back and closed the freezer door, taking the lasagna with him.  He set about preheating the oven and read over the cooking instructions.

“Oof.”

Jehan made a small noise behind them that got them both to turn.  Surprisingly, in a short amount of time, he had worked through a rather sizeable chunk of the ice cream.  He was letting the spoon rest in the carton as he rubbed his tummy.  It was starting to show the effects of all the ice cream he was putting in there.  Then again, Feuilly wagered that it wouldn’t take much for Jehan to show the effects of overeating since his empty stomach was verging on concave.

“Slow down,” Bahorel said with a snorted laugh. “You don’t have to shovel it down.  Besides, you’ve got some time before this is done.”

He leaned forward and patted Jehan’s little bulge.

“I’m just excited,” he replied, smiling sheepishly.  He dug his spoon back into the ice cream but began eating it more slowly.

The oven dinged and Feuilly slid the lasagna into it and set it for the minimum amount of time.  A home economics class in high school had taught him to always use the minimum cooking time and then cook for longer if it wasn’t done.  He was certain that his his teacher hadn’t planned him to use this knowledge for stuffing his boyfriend and his occasional lover but that was neither here nor there.

Feuilly leaned back against the counter that the oven was a part of and watched Jehan eat.

“So...you said you were into this before?” he asked.  He hadn’t even entertained the thought until last week.

Jehan nodded. “Yeah...I used to secretly watch stuff on Youtube since I was too anxious about getting an account anywhere and thought, ‘I think I’d like to do that.’”

He put another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.  He held the quart between his thighs and was rubbing his slowly distending belly with the hand not holding the spoon.  He dug the spoon into the carton again but instead held it out to Bahorel.

“Do you want some?”

He shook his head. “S’all you.  I’m waiting on the lasagna.”

Jehan went back to eating contentedly.  Feuilly glanced at the oven timer and then back at Bahorel.

“If you don’t want to be receiving, it’s okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I do.  I just want to wait a bit...and I don’t like ice cream.  You know that.”

“Yeah, you are weird like that.”

He smirked and shoved him playfully.

“I’ll have you know that Jim Morrison didn’t like ice cream, either.”

“Jim Morrison who wore the same leather pants so often that they became a literal extension of his skin?”

Bahorel laughed and prodded his belly.

“Hush, you.”

Feuilly grinned.  He noticed then that the muted sounds of Jehan eating stopped and he glanced over at him.  He was grinning around his spoon.

“What?”

He removed it from his mouth and gestured between the two of them with it.

“You two.  Being adorable.  I’m happy to be a part of it.”

Before Feuilly could muster up a reply, the oven dinged, signaling that the lasagna was done.  He snatched two potholders from the drawer and carefully slid it out of the oven and onto the ceramic cutting board Jehan had picked up at a thrift shop a few weeks ago.

“If figure half for each of you?” he asked.

The smell of melted cheese made his own mouth water and his stomach growl but he ignored it.  He wasn’t getting fed tonight.  And, besides, he had already eaten dinner.  He picked up a knife and carefully cut it down the middle.  Steam rose up so quickly that he took a step back.

“Alright...uh...let’s just...wait a bit on that,” he said.

He put the knife back on the counter and turned back round.

“S’fine,” Jehan said sunnily. “I’ve still got ice cream to work through...”

He rubbed his tummy again and let out a little groan.  With his exposed midriff, it was easy to see the little belly beginning to puff out over the waistband of his jeans.  About half of the quart was gone now

“If you want to stop and save room for the lasagna, you can,” Feuilly said.

Next to him, Bahorel snorted a laugh.

“You are the worst feeder, ever.”

“What?  I’m being cognizant to his desires.”

Bahorel rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got to be more dominant.  Like this.”

He made a scooting motion with his hands and Feuilly shook his head as he stepped aside.  Bahorel drew up to Jehan and rubbed his hand over the outward curve of his belly.

“Fill it up,” he told him in a low, raspy voice. “As much as you can.  Alright?”

Jehan nodded, spoon in his mouth.

“Then you’re going to eat that lasagna until it’s gone.  Until you’re so full you’ll need us both to carry you upstairs.  You got that?”

Another nod.  Bahorel gave his belly one last pat.

“Good.”

Feuilly folded his arms over his chest.

“Alright fine.  But it’s not my fault I’m a sub.”

Bahorel turned to him and squeezed both hands into the flesh of his belly.

“You’re getting to be about the size of one.”

“Ha, ha.”

They were interrupted by the sound of the spoon landing in the carton.  Feuilly turned and saw Jehan pouting at them both, one hand over his belly.

“Hey...I’m super-stuffed.  I think I need some help finishing this ice cream.”

Bahorel nudged him in that direction, hands still on his stomach.

“That’s your cue.”

Feuilly stepped over to him and took the spoon from the carton.  He dug some out and held it out for Jehan to eat.

“Open up.”

He did and he slid the spoon into his mouth.  At first he put it in too far and Jehan gagged.  The second spoonful went down more easily and he soon found himself in a rhythm.  When there was about a quarter of it left, Jehan refused a spoonful.

“No more,” he bleated pitifully. “I can’t take it.”

He put both hands on his belly and groaned.  Feuilly bit his lip, unsure what to do.  He didn’t want to force him into doing something he didn’t want.  Sheepishly, he glanced over at Bahorel to jerked his chin to Jehan’s waist.  Feuilly turned and--oh!  Jehan’s jeans were still buttoned.  Setting the spoon down, he flicked the button open.  Jehan’s full belly forced the zipper down and he exhaled.

“Are you good?” he asked.

He nodded, breathing heavily.

“Alright.”

Finally, the last of the ice cream was gone.  Jehan groaned and lay back on the counter, hands rubbing the taut skin of his stomach.  He burped loudly and then groaned once more.

“Are you ready for lasagna?” Bahorel asked.

To Feuilly’s surprise, Jehan nodded, a wan smile on his face.

\--

Feuilly sat back up on the counter and surveyed his work.  He figured that there was no actual future in him being a full-time feeder in this arrangement but he didn’t think he did too badly.  The lasagna was gone, anyway.  Jehan was sprawled out over the large square island, arms wrapped protectively around his distended belly.  Every once in awhile, he’d let out a whimper of mixed pleasure and pain.  Bahorel sat slumped on the floor, his back against the counter’s base and his legs pressed against the bottom of the island.  His shirt had ridden up and there was sauce dotting it from when he had sloppily devoured his half of the lasagna.

Feuilly reached down and hauled him to his feet.

“So, how’d I do?” he asked.

“Ugh.”

“So that’s good?”

Bahorel nodded and leaned against him, his firm belly pressing up against Feuilly’s much softer one.

“Very good,” Jehan called weakly.

It took both he and Bahorel to get him back on his feet, though the latter only used one hand as the other seemed to be welded to his own stomach.  Jehan leaned heavily against Feuilly, his hands weakly rubbing his taut, bloated skin.

“Nngh,” he mumbled. “We’re going upstairs now, right?”

Feuilly nodded and it slowly dawned on him that he was probably going to have to drag them both upstairs.  He sighed and decided to get down to it.  He carefully slipped an arm around Jehan’s middle and pulled him.  With his other hand, he took Bahorel’s free one and began guiding them towards the steps.

At the entrance to the kitchen, he paused, because he saw that they were not alone.  Standing in the doorway was a very confused-looking Combeferre.  He seemed to have just arrived: his bag was slung over his shoulder and his hair looked windblown.

“Hey,” Feuilly said awkwardly. “How was class?”

Combeferre didn’t answer him.  He scrutinized the three of them from behind his glasses, brows furrowed in confusion.

“What?” Bahorel asked, suppressing a belch.

Combeferre’s lips quirked up into a small smile.

“Nothing.  Carry on.”

He stepped aside to allow them to get up the stairs first.


End file.
